


1968

by slateblueflowers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Table Sex, Young Shadwell, major character death but only because. we all know major milkbottle dies. its ok guys., oh jeez how do i even tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slateblueflowers/pseuds/slateblueflowers
Summary: The real story of Sergeant Shadwell and Major Milkbottle.
Relationships: Sergeant Shadwell/Witchfinder Major Milkbottle
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: GO-events NTA #9 - Milkbottle After Dark





	1968

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the GO Events Server NTA #9!  
> Prompt: Milk bottle

**London, 1968**

Hot breath on his neck -- hands planted on his ribs -- his back against the wooden tabletop. He groaned, craving what he knew was to come. He hitched his leg up to hook behind Matt’s hips, urging them closer and feeling long fingers curling gently through his short brown hair. He moaned against Matt’s lips, bucking his hips to beg for more, harder. 

“Please, Matt.” He shut his eyes and arched his back further into Matt’s grasp. He felt the hand in his hair clench, pulling backwards, and relished in the prickling pain in his scalp. Not for the first time, he silently thanked the club’s thumping music just beyond the door for muffling his gasp. Should anyone find them like this -- well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Yes, it was the 60’s, yes it was London Soho, but the last thing he needed was some conservative twat casting aspersions on the entire Army simply because two members happened to be quite entirely caught up in each other. 

Matt’s hands traveled lower, hooking onto his belt loop and tugging gently. “Fix this, Shadwell.” 

“That’s _Corporal_ to you, boy-oh,” he breathed, recalling the day Matt had sauntered into Army headquarters. Matt had asked Shadwell to pass him a coffee, and he had responded with the same words he used now.

He was yanked back to the present as his fly was hastily undone and felt warm hands on his cock. Shadwell responded in kind, moaning louder than perhaps was wise and pawing desperately at Matt’s trousers, fumbling the zipper to get access as quickly as he could. Matt climbed on top of him, knees planted on either side of his torso, and cupped Shadwell’s face in his hands. 

“You’re beautiful,” Matt murmured, pressing desperate kisses to every bit of Shadwell he could reach. Aching for contact, Shadwell divested Matt of his pants and brought their cocks together, wrapping his hand around both their lengths. Matt gasped, and for several perfect moments the only sound was their breathing and the movement of hands on flesh. Shadwell’s toes clenched in his boots and his breath hitched as he reached his crest, vision whiting. 

“Ah, ah -- Matt, fuck --” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he felt Matt shudder above him and felt the warmth of their cum mingling on their hands. Matt sighed, letting his head droop forward into the crook of Shadwell’s neck, nuzzling gently. 

“They’ll be missin’ us if we wait tae much longer,” Shadwell found himself saying, hating himself for shattering the moment. They pried themselves apart and used Shadwell’s ascot to clean the mess. All too soon they moved into the next room, bending over the sign-in sheet. 

Decades later -- after a bouquet of flowers and twenty pounds for the family -- Shadwell would remember watching Matt advance into the room radiating his quiet, suave confidence. He would think nothing of signing his name just under his lover’s: 

“Lieutenant M. Bottle.” 


End file.
